


The Ghost and Captain Becker

by fredbassett



Series: Ghost Ryan [2]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: Becker begins to think there might be more to his latest posting than meets the eye.





	The Ghost and Captain Becker

Captain Becker hesitated at the top of the ramp that led down into the atrium.

Connor Temple was sitting in his chair in front of the massive bank of computer screens, coiled wires and keyboards which together formed the machine everyone referred to as the ADD. Cutter had told him the initials stood for Anomaly Detection Device and Connor had made an attempt to explain how it worked, which had left Becker covering up his lack of comprehension with a polite smile.

He’d used that same polite smile rather a lot since he’d arrived at his latest posting. Becker hoped it looked slightly more professional than a look of complete bewilderment, even though that would more accurately reflect the way he felt most of the time.

Becker watched Connor lean back in his chair and allow his eyes to fall closed. He was probably imagining himself tucked up in bed at home rather than stuck in the ARC at 2am, in the middle of what looked like a rebuild of the back-up server. He’d heard Connor declare earlier in the day that the job should take no more than a couple of hours, but it looked like the team’s resident geek hadn’t factored in the numerous gremlins that inevitably crawled out of the woodwork to wreak havoc on such jobs. As far as Becker could tell, Connor had been working on the machine for at least the last eight hours.

It looked like Connor was determined to finish what he was doing before going home, but from where Becker was standing it seemed increasingly unlikely that the lad would see his own bed that night.

Connor blinked himself awake and shook his head, clearly trying to drive the fog of exhaustion from his brain.

Becker walked down the ramp carrying two mugs of coffee in one hand and a packet of biscuits in the other.

“Coffee?”

Connor jerked upright. He clearly hadn’t heard Becker’s approach. The young man looked up, and Becker saw all too clearly the sudden flash of pain and despair in the dark eyes when he saw past the black uniform to the man underneath. The trouble was that Becker was the wrong man.

Connor’s stomach emitted a loud rumble. He clearly hadn’t eaten in hours. Becker watched him clamp down on his grief, and do his best to plaster a smile on his face while he nodded his thanks.

“How are you finding things?” Connor mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit, attempting to be sociable.

“The job’s certainly …” Becker groped for the right word and ended up with, “… interesting.”

Connor managed a grin. “Did they tell you about the dinosaurs before or after you got here?”

Becker smiled. “After. All I was told before I got here was that a top secret government project needed a new captain.”

The moment the words left his mouth Becker mentally kicked himself. Connor Temple and the late, and clearly very lamented, Captain Ryan had been friends. Close friends from what he’d been able to gather, although everyone on the anomaly project seemed to make a virtue out of not gossiping, which set them aside from any other military unit Becker had ever been involved with.

He tried to cover his gaffe by proffering another biscuit. Connor took it, but it was obvious he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

“How long do you think this will take?” asked Becker, for want of something to say, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the bank of screens.

Connor sighed. “It should have been an easy job, but I seem to put the kiss of death on computers at the moment. The ADD’s done nothing but play up recently and I’m on my second laptop in two months. Lester says the next one’s coming out of my wages.”

“Is there something wrong with the electrics in this place? The kettle blew up in the rec room yesterday.”

“Norman’s taken to buying them in bulk, the rate we’ve been getting through them, but he swears blind the electrics are OK.”

“Is that the old guy who keeps putting the ‘out of order’ signs on the lift? The one who keeps muttering about the Archangel Gabriel?”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Does he? It was Michael’s fault yesterday. He must have changed his mind.”

“Michael?” Becker queried, wondering if he was ever going to get to know everyone who worked in this warren of a building.

“You know, the one with the flaming sword.”

Becker didn’t remember seeing one of those in the armoury.

Connor’s expression brightened. “He used to work for the MoD – Norman, I mean, not the Archangel Michael. He’s got a security clearance as high as Lester’s.” Connor lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I used to think he was as a mad as a box of frogs, but now I’m not so sure.”

Becker was pleased to see that the shadow had lifted from Connor’s eyes again and he was now happily munching his biscuit. There was something appealing about the lad’s intensity and Becker felt bad about bringing up a sense of loss that was clearly still all too raw. Becker thought his predecessor must have been very good at his job to have earned the respect and loyalty of such a very diverse bunch of people.

They exchanged a few more vague pleasantries while Connor finished his coffee, then Becker collected the mug to take back upstairs, but left the biscuits behind.

A couple of the lads on the night shift were playing cards in the recreation room. Becker washed the mugs up in the small kitchen and debated whether to join them or not. One of the soldiers nicknamed Blade, for reasons that had quickly become obvious, asked him to put the kettle on. Becker nodded and obliged. He was pleased to see that the men seemed to be relaxing around him now.

Coming into a fresh posting was never easy and, for all sorts of reasons, this one looked to be harder than most. The Special Forces soldiers – now his men – were a close-knit bunch, and Becker’s second-in-command, Lieutenant Lyle, was older than him and had a great deal more operational experience. Becker wouldn’t have been surprised to have met with resistance from both the officers and the men, but so far they’d all been reasonably welcoming, albeit in a rather distracted way.

The scientists he was working with were an odd bunch. The team leader, Professor Cutter, was an irascible Scot who’d made it plain from day one that his orders would always trump Becker’s in the field. That wasn’t an easy fit with Lester’s instructions to keep the team safe, but Becker knew he’d have to work to earn Cutter’s respect the way Ryan had so obviously done.

Cutter’s assistant, Stephen Hart, was a quiet man a few years older than Becker. His role on the team appeared to be that of tracker, something they needed all too frequently, according to the reports he’d read. He was also an expert marksman and fully competent with a variety of lethal and non-lethal weapons.

Their resident animal expert, Abby Maitland, was a slip of girl, not much over half Becker’s height, but she had a kick like a mule, from what he’d seen of her in action in the gym. She also had a stare that would have put Paddington Bear to shame. Connor Temple, computer genius and self-confessed dinosaur geek, shared a flat with her.

A sharp electrical crackle from the base of the kettle put an end to Becker’s reflections.

He stepped back in surprise, half-thinking he’d forgotten to put any water into the bloody thing, but a quick glance was enough to tell him that wasn’t the case.

“There’s another one in the cupboard, sir,” Blade called cheerfully.

“That’s the second one in two days,” Becker commented.

“Duff batch?” hazarded the other guy, who appeared to rejoice in the nickname of Kermit. Becker heard him stand up and mutter, “Need a slash. Do me a favour, mate?”

Blade sighed and followed his companion out of the room, leaving Becker to puzzle over why everyone in the building seemed to be in the habit of going to the toilet in pairs. He was beginning to wonder if there was a security protocol on the subject that no one had bothered to explain to him.

Becker wondered what else he hadn’t been told about the project. No doubt he’d find out in due course.

* * * * *

When the shrill noise of the ADD alarm sounded throughout the building, Becker was in the armoury familiarising himself with the kit at the team’s disposal and chatting companionably with Jon Lyle.

“Knew it couldn’t last,” sighed the dark-haired lieutenant, heading for his locker to grab his equipment vest.

Becker went to do the same, even though – on the showing of the past week – it stood a high chance of being a false alarm. The ADD still appeared to be suffering a plague of reliability issues, much to Connor’s consternation.

He raised his eyebrows at Lyle, who was grabbing an M4 off one of the racks. “Reckon this one’s for real?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yep, my thumbs have been pricking like buggery for the last half hour.”

The statement was obviously meant to signify something, but Becker didn’t like to continually display his ignorance, so he simply nodded and took possession of his weapon of choice, a Mossberg 590 pump-action shotgun.

Lyle grinned approvingly. “Nice choice, sir. Stopping power never goes amiss in this bloody job. Come on, let’s go and see what the Big Book of Dinosaurs has decided to throw at us today.”

The two men took the corridor at a run, passing various other team-members heading the other way into the armoury to grab their own kit.

They passed the white-haired maintenance man in the corridor putting yet another out of order sign on the lift. The man – Norman, according to Connor – met Lyle’s eyes briefly and muttered, “Can’t blame ‘im for this one, laddie. Watch yourselves out there.”

Lyle nodded. “We will do. Thanks, mate.”

It rapidly turned into the sort of day that no briefing could have prepared Becker for. The team headed at speed for the South Downs. According to a clearly excited Connor, an anomaly had opened slap-bang in the middle of an Iron Age hill-fort called Cissbury Ring.

Becker travelled in a Hilux driven by Professor Cutter. Stephen Hart took the front seat seemingly as of right, while Becker was crammed in the back with Connor and Abby. Lyle and a four-man team followed behind in another vehicle.

Connor spent the whole journey regaling them with facts about the hill-fort, somehow managing to use his laptop and wriggle like an excited puppy at the same time. Becker lost track of the number of times he ended up with an elbow in the side, or sometimes even the groin, when Connor decided to emphasise a point.

According to Connor – or more probably Wikipedia – Cissbury Ring was the second largest hill-fort in England, built around 300BC as a defensive enclosure surrounded by a deep ditch. The landscape they were driving through was still covered in snow from a heavy fall two days previously and the fields on both sides were white behind snow-clad hedges. They were heading for a car park at somewhere called Storrington Rise, just off the A24, three miles north of Worthing.

The sky was grey, threatening further snow. Becker hoped that would keep the general public inside in the warm. He’d read past reports until he had facts coming out of his ears, but he still had little idea what to expect and had made up his mind to follow Lyle’s lead as much as possible until he found his feet with the team and started to gain their trust. Throwing his weight around would get him nowhere, and it had been hammered home to him often enough in his career that an inexperienced officer can be a bloody liability in the field. He never wanted that to be said about him.

A violent nudge in his stomach signified that Connor had another interesting fact to impart.

“Look at it! You can see it for miles!” Connor exclaimed excitedly, pointing forward, not down at his computer screen.

“Jenny’s going to love this,” said Stephen. “We’ll need a cover story.” He pulled out his mobile phone, clearly intending to call the ARC.

Becker craned his neck to look out of the front window. The hill-fort rose imposingly above the surrounding fields and scattered copses of trees clothed its flanks in places. Becker’s eyes were drawn immediately to a bright sparkle of light on the summit, flashing in the winter sun.

His first anomaly.

Cutter was now driving at speed down a narrow, snow-covered lane while Stephen briefed Jenny on what they could see of the anomaly. Becker noted some vehicle tracks, probably from morning dog-walkers, but the car park itself was fortunately empty.

Lyle’s Hilux followed them into the car park and the men jumped out, weapons held at the ready. The current team consisted of 2nd Lieutenant Dave ‘Ditzy’ Owen, the team’s medic, Blade with his impossibly large collection of knives, Finn, a quiet bloke with a talent for long-distance marksmanship, and Kermit, the youngest of the group, a pleasant lad who obviously doted on his wife and baby daughter. They fanned out immediately into a defensive formation, hard-eyed and competent, waiting for orders.

Connor had a small box of tricks in his hands which apparently enabled him to locate anomalies at reasonably close range, not that there was much chance of missing this one. He was also carrying something that determined the magnetic strength of the anomaly, which presumably would give them some idea how long it was likely to remain a problem for.

The team immediately fell into what looked like a well-practiced routine. Stephen Hart took the lead, with Lyle, Kermit and Finn covering him. Cutter, Connor and Abby were in the middle of the group while the other two soldiers brought up the rear. For want of a better plan, Becker fell into step beside Cutter, his boots crunching on the snow as they went at a fast walk up the narrow track that led to the hill-fort.

“You know we don’t kill the creatures that come through the anomalies unless there is absolutely no other way, don’t you?” Cutter said. “It has to be a last resort.”

“I am aware of that, Professor,” Becker acknowledged, privately thinking that his definition of last resort and Cutter’s might be somewhat different, but just then didn’t seem a good time to be debating semantics.

They started on the climb up the slope of the hill-fort, rapidly approaching the steep-sided bank and ditch that surrounded the summit. The views over the frozen landscape were breathtaking, as was the cold. A flock of sheep stood in a huddle near a patch of trees, but otherwise the area seemed devoid of human or animal activity.

The top of the hill was bare of any cover and ahead of them the anomaly twisted and turned in the light, looking like a huge broken diamond. It was beautiful, Becker had to admit, but the sight raised the hairs on the back of his neck and sent a chill, wholly unrelated to the weather conditions, down his spine. Captain Ryan had died as a result of injuries sustained on the other side of an anomaly, and Becker hoped to avoid following that example.

A sudden gust of wind came out of nowhere and whipped a flurry of white flakes into the air around them.

Ahead, Stephen signalled a halt then went down on one knee in the snow, staring at what looked like tracks. He motioned Connor forward. “Looks like hooves of some sort.”

Becker started to relax. Hooves sounded like things that ate grass and leaves to him, and the tracks didn’t look that big, so maybe they were going to be lucky today. Connor knelt at Stephen’s side, his ever-present laptop in a battered case slung from one shoulder.

Stephen took a few paces forward to check a clearer-looking impression. “A five-toed hoof. Ideas, Conn?”

Connor hauled his laptop out of the case muttering that if this one met an untimely end, he wanted someone else to tell Lester. Fingers moved nimbly over the keyboard, in spite of the cold, and Becker wondered whether the need to type at all times was the reason that the lad habitually wore fingerless gloves.

“How big do you reckon it is?” Connor asked, obviously hoping to refine his search parameters.

“Bigger than a sheep,” Stephen answered. “Maybe something the size of a wolf but heavier.”

A wolf? That was an odd comparison to make when they were dealing with a herbivore. Becker began to wonder if his first idea had been correct or not. Cutter joined the huddle and Becker heard various unfamiliar words or names being bandied around.

Stephen straightened up. “I need to check whether these prints have come out of the anomaly.” He glanced at Lyle, Finn and Kermit. “Keep away from the tracks.”

“Are you intending to go through?” Becker asked, suddenly unsure of the protocols in this regard.

“We’ll take a quick look, but only enough to see if it gives us any clues to what we’re dealing with.” Without waiting for approval, the tracker set off across the snow-covered hillside. The three soldiers followed him.

Connor glanced up at Cutter, a frown on his face. “Best guess is a mesonychian.”

Cutter’s face also developed a frown, so Becker guessed that the – whatever it was - wasn’t a good thing to be dealing with.

“Andrewsarchus?” Cutter said, questioningly.

Connor shook his head. “Not big enough. The prints would be twice the size if we were dealing with one of them. My guess is Mesonyx or something similar.” He turned his attention to Becker and the soldiers. “We’re looking for something about the size of a wolf that looks like a big wolverine.” He probably saw the look on Becker’s face and added quickly, “About one and a half metres long and about a metre tall. Vicious buggers, powerful jaws, heavy skull, good at biting. You don’t want to mess with them.”

“I thought you said it had hooves?” said Becker, giving in to curiosity and hoping he hadn’t just made himself look an idiot.

“I did.” Connor pointed at the tracks. “Five toes, small hooves not claws, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a meat-eater.”

“Mid Palaeocene, possibly as late as the Oligocene,” muttered Cutter, making no sense to Becker at all. “Possibly scavengers, like hyaenas, but they could easily be opportunistic if they sense an easy kill.”

“So the sheep are at risk,” Becker said, hoping he was managing to say something half-way intelligent. “What about people?”

Cutter shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.” He glanced at Abby who was loading her tranquilliser pistol. “Err on the high side for dosage. Work on the basis that it will be heavier-bodied than a wolf.”

A shout from Stephen indicated that only one animal had come through the anomaly.

Becker watched as the tracker, accompanied by Lyle, stepped right up to the flickering shards of light and then into them. Becker realised he’d just sucked in a sharp breath. Less than a minute later the two men reappeared. Finn and Kermit took up station by the anomaly, facing it and combat-ready, while Stephen and Lyle jogged back to join the main party.

“Bugger sight warmer there than here,” grinned Lyle.

“Dry, almost desert-like fauna,” reported Stephen. “Low scrub, thorny bushes, some large succulents. No sign of any animal life apart from our chum’s prints leading this way.”

Becker exchanged glances with Lyle. “Do we need more than two to guard it, lieutenant?” Better to ask than make the wrong decision, but he hoped it didn’t make him seem indecisive.

Lyle shook his head. “Two there should be fine. We need to keep an eye out for walkers as well but we can see the car park from most of this hillside and once we’re away from the anomaly we’ll get radio comms back. If we see anyone we tell ‘em it’s a military exercise. Standard cover-up.”

Becker nodded towards the anomaly. “So how do we explain that?”

“Light-effect caused by sun glaring off the snow,” supplied Connor. “Jenny’s on stand-by if we need any additional PR.”

“OK, Stephen,” said Cutter. “Do your stuff.”

Stephen looked amused. “I’m not sure you need a tracker for this one. Come on, let’s play Good King Wenceslas. What are we looking for, Conn?”

“Mesonyx. Think wolverine with added attitude.”

That statement brought a grimace to Stephen’s face, and Becker was now rapidly coming to the conclusion that wolverines were something not to be taken lightly.

Connor obviously caught the look on his face because he added, for Becker’s benefit, “Wolverines aren’t that big, but they’d happily take on something twice their size and they’d probably win, as well. And the chap we’re looking for is bigger and feistier.”

“Might there be more on the way?” Becker asked as they set off after Stephen. It seemed to be sensible to gather as much information as he could and it was obvious that the rest of the team were listening keenly.

“Unlikely. All the evidence points to the fact that they were solitary.”

Becker smiled. “Good news?”

Connor nodded. “Good news.”

They proceeded quickly across the snowy hilltop. The views of the rolling countryside of the South Downs were stunning, with the hills blanketed with snow as far as the eye could see, and small copses of woodland standing out in darker contrast in places.

The tracks led down the slope of the hillside and into the steep-sided ditch that formed a rampart encircling the top of the hill. The creature appeared to have stopped, circled around a couple of times and then taken a copious piss in the snow. It had set off again, still in the ditch, before heading up over the bank and taking off at a run towards a copse of trees.

Stephen kept up a running commentary as they followed the tracks, gauging its speed from the spacing of the footprints. Cutter’s assistant clearly knew his stuff. He was carrying a tranquilliser rifle slung over his shoulder and had a Browning pistol in a shoulder-rig. Cutter himself was unarmed, as was Conner. Abby had a tranquilliser pistol only. Becker instinctively moved closer to Connor. The lad was encumbered by his laptop bag and assorted other bits of kit and seemed frighteningly oblivious to what was going on around him.

They were rapidly approaching a copse surrounded by a tangle of undergrowth. Lyle immediately took point, with Ditzy and Blade at the rear, both soldiers staying apart from the main group so that they could provide covering fire if necessary, without endangering their civilian charges. Becker admired the smooth professionalism shown by all Ryan’s – now his – men.

Another sudden breeze threw snow up in their faces.

Behind him Becker heard Blade mutter, “Careful, boss.”

Becker turned sharply, wondering what Blade was warning about, while part of him was intensely surprised by the mode of address. In Special Forces, ‘boss’ as a way of addressing superior officers was invariably reserved for long-standing and well-respected officers by men they worked closely with. He found it hard to believe that any of the men now under his command would be according him a title like that so quickly.

He caught Blade’s eye and raised one eyebrow questioningly.

Blade gave a quick shake of his head. “Sorry, sir, thought I saw something. Trick of the light.”

Becker nodded understandingly. The honorific had obviously been a slip of the tongue.

The bleating of a sheep drew their attention and Stephen and Lyle promptly broke into a run. Becker saw sheep scattering across the slopes of the hill, as something larger and browner bounded out of the trees across the snowy landscape and into their midst.

“Wow, he’s bigger than I expected!” exclaimed Connor. “Neat!”

Stephen quickly loaded his rifle with a tranquilliser dart then started running again, Lyle at his heels. The sheep were now bleating madly, obviously afraid. If anyone happened on the scene now it would be easy to blame a sheep-worrying dog, provided no one got close enough to realise that the actual culprit was something that looked like a cross between a hyaena and a bear. Its powerful jaws were open and the creature – the mesonyx – was emitting a series of short, sharp barks as it pursued its prey.

“So much for them only being carrion-eaters,” muttered Cutter. “I always thought Robertson was talking rubbish in that last paper of his.”

Connor shot him a quick grin. “Just don’t call him on it or Lester will have heart-failure.”

Stephen was close enough now to attempt a shot. He dropped to one knee and sighted carefully. The creature bounded sideways at exactly the moment he squeezed the trigger and the dart flew wide, burying itself in the grubby white wool of a sheep’s coat.

He reloaded with practiced ease.

One of the sheep turned and started back up the slope towards the trees. The mesonyx followed, gaining ground fast. Stephen steadied himself for another shot. A moment later, a surprised yell from Connor caused all heads to swivel to him. A pair of red deer had just broken from cover behind them and both animals were bounding across the snow-covered ground. Another bark, this time from the cover of the trees caused a further distraction.

If it was a dog, that might mean there was an owner nearby and they still had a dangerous predator on their hands. Becker decided it was time to take a decision for himself.

“Richards, check out the trees. If there’s anyone there tell them we’ve been called in to deal with a case of sheep-worrying and keep them away.”

Blade nodded and moved off to do Becker’s bidding.

The crack of Stephen’s rifle signified that he’d attempted another shot. “Got you,” Becker heard the tracker breathe in triumph.

A moment later, chaos descended. A large German Shepherd dog came hurtling out of the trees barking madly, heading in the direction of the mesonyx, and another deer, this time a stag, bolted from cover at the same time. It immediately found itself caught between the dog and something which must have smelled both unfamiliar and threatening. The stag sniffed the air, tossing its head, then swerved abruptly straight towards them.

The small group scattered. Connor was knocked flying into the snow and a moment later, Becker suddenly realised that the large, brown-furred visitor from the past was charging straight towards them, seemingly none the worse for the dose of tranquilliser which must have been just starting to hit its system.

Becker raised his shotgun and heard a yell of, “No!” from Cutter.

A moment later, a strong gust of wind eddied around them, again flinging powdery snow all around. The animal stopped abruptly, growling deep in its throat. It gathered itself on its powerful haunches, poised to spring towards Connor. Lyle and Ditzy both brought their rifles to bear but were clearly waiting for an order from Becker.

He opened his mouth to tell them to take the creature down but the sudden wind whipped his words away. Becker tried to give the order but found that the words wouldn’t come.

A voice that he didn’t recognise snapped, “Hold your fire!” in the tone of someone clearly used to command.

Becker pumped a shell into the barrel of his Mossberg, but kept his finger from squeezing the trigger. The flurry of snowflakes around them thrown up by another strong gust of wind seemed to confuse the creature. It came to a halt, still growling, only a metre in front of Connor’s prone form. He’d stopped trying to get up after losing his footing twice. Behind him, Ditzy had his rifle levelled at the mesonyx but he was also obeying the instruction to hold fire.

The creature suddenly whined loudly, backing away from Connor. A blast of wind so strong that it rocked Becker on his feet blew snow directly into the animal’s face. It turned and ran, yowling in obvious fear. Thirty metres from their group it abruptly faltered and fell. The tranquilliser dart had clearly taken effect.

The dog that had dashed out of the trees after the stag came to an equally abrupt halt just in front of Connor, also growling viciously and for a moment Becker thought he might have to shoot it. Then it, too, gave a yelp of fear and turned around, streaking back the way it had come, tail firmly between its legs.

“Nice one, boss,” breathed Ditzy, before hauling Connor to his feet and brushing the snow off him. “OK, mate?” the medic asked solicitously. Then he grinned and added, “Have you considered showering more often?”

Connor returned the grin. “I reckon it was your ugly mug they didn’t like.”

“Well they certainly didn’t like something,” pronounced Cutter. The professor favoured Becker with one of his rare smiles. “Good call to hold fire, Captain. Carry on like that and we’ll get on fine.”

Becker opened his mouth to disclaim responsibility for the order when he was suddenly struck by the unnaturally bland looks on the faces of the other soldiers. He nodded without speaking, confining himself to a slight smile.

They left Blade to read the riot act to the owner of the dog for having it off the lead near sheep and proceeded to haul the unconscious mesonyx back to the anomaly, while Abby tended to their friendly-fire casualty, the sheep.

Becker spent the hour it took for the anomaly to close wondering who the hell had given the hold fire order. He eventually reached the conclusion it must have been Lyle and that he hadn’t recognised his voice in the heat of the moment, but he still couldn’t account for the reactions of the mesonyx and the dog.

Nor could Becker account for the slips of the tongue Ryan’s men seemed to suffer from in his presence.

But at least they’d got the job done and he was no longer an anomaly virgin.

* * * * *

The drive back was accomplished at a more sedate pace, but even so it still seemed to involve quite a lot of wriggling from Connor and at least one elbow in the balls for Becker. By the time the Hilux pulled up in the ARC’s cavernous underground garage, Becker was wondering how he could manage to trade places with Stephen on future trips. He suspected he wouldn’t succeed.

While the others headed for coffee in the recreation room, Becker and Cutter reported to Lester in his office. It appeared Lester regarded the operation as a success in that no one had been injured, not even the sheep, and no members of the public had been involved. The dog-walker who had blathered about wanting to see the light had been swiftly dispatched back down the hill by Blade, with the suggestion that he try visiting the local church instead.

Cutter particularly commended Becker’s calm and rational leadership under pressure. By which the professor meant that Becker hadn’t blasted the hell out of the creature at the slightest provocation. He felt a fraud taking credit for the command to hold fire, so he made up for it by saying how impressed he had been with the teamwork displayed by Lyle and his men.

“Captain Ryan trained them well,” said Lester. “You may want to consider employing some of his methods yourself when – not if – Professor Cutter reverts to his usual obstreperous self.”

Becker raised his eyebrows in polite enquiry.

“Ryan thumped me on our first trip to the Permian,” supplied Cutter, clearly unembarrassed by the revelation. He shot a swift grin at Lester. “I like to think I’ve mellowed since then.”

The lights in Lester’s room flickered and for a moment, Becker wondered if they were about to suffer a power failure in the building.

“Do you indeed?” Lester said mildly. “Well someone has to, I suppose. Thank you, gentlemen, I’ll expect your reports by the end of the day.”

Becker and Cutter joined the others in the rec room for coffee and to his amazement the kettle appeared to survive the experience, which made a welcome change. The out of order sign had even disappeared from the lift for once, although Norman seemed to be still muttering darkly about something or someone, but Becker was beginning to think that was simply his default setting. He hadn’t managed to work out whether the mysterious person at whose door the maintenance supervisor seemed to lay most of the blame was the Archbishop of Canterbury, who figured frequently in Norman’s monologues, a random archangel or someone else entirely.

Snow continued to fall throughout the afternoon, and Becker volunteered to take the night shift again, working on the basis that he’d never get back up the hill to his rented flat in these conditions. He spent most of the evening playing cards with Blade, who’d also drawn the short straw.

After a couple of hours the pressure on his bladder from too many cups of coffee made itself felt and Becker excused himself, half-wondering whether he should conform to what appeared to be the requisite standards and request company. An amused look from his green-eyed companion told Becker that the soldier knew exactly what he’d been thinking. But Blade didn’t offer to join him, and Becker didn’t ask.

The Anomaly Research Centre maintained only a skeleton staff at night and the corridors were deserted, as were the toilets. Becker stepped up to one of the urinals and unzipped his trousers. As a stream of urine splashed in the basin, Becker heard the door open behind him and for a moment he wondered if Blade was conforming to some unwritten protocol after all.

A half-glance over his shoulder showed a black-clad figure moving towards the stalls. Whoever it was still wore full combat-rig and Becker wondered for a moment who the hell had just come back from a field op at that time of night. He didn’t even think they had any teams still out in the field. It certainly wasn’t Blade. He’d been wearing a long-sleeved black teeshirt, not a jacket and tac vest, when Becker had left him only a moment ago.

After finishing peeing and tucking himself back into his trousers, Becker turned around and glanced towards the row of cubicles. The doors to all of them stood open and the stalls themselves were empty. So where had whoever it was gone? A faint prickle of unease ran down Becker’s spine. As far as he knew the only people on duty apart from himself were Blade and Finn, neither of whom would be wandering around the ARC wearing full combats. In fact when he’d last seen Finn, the guy had been heading for bed, complete with a wank-mag, saying he fancied an early night, and ignoring Blade’s ribald comments about his love affair with Mrs Palm and her daughters.

Feeling something of an idiot, Becker walked down the line of toilets checking each one. They were all empty. With a shrug, he headed for the main door, wondering if he should check the security logs to see who was in the building. He opened the door, glancing at the same time in the mirror over one of the hand-basins.

A tall figure dressed in black stared steadily back at him over his shoulder.

Becker whirled around then stopped abruptly.

The room was empty.

This time a shiver really did run through him and to Becker’s shame, he bolted through the open door, heart hammering in his chest.

Once in the corridor, the absurdity of the situation struck home with some force. He was a Special Forces captain, for God’s sake, not a nervous kid who’d spent too long watching horror films.

Taking a deep breath, Becker gripped the handle again and pushed at the door. The handle turned but the door wouldn’t open. He took another deep breath and leaned against it with his shoulder. It still wouldn’t open. He considered applying more force, but was distracted by the sound of footsteps approaching down the corridor.

A shock of white hair above a set of blue overalls betokened the arrival of Norman.

“The door appears to be stuck,” said Becker, conscious of just how lame he sounded.

The old man rolled his eyes and muttered, “Not ‘im again! Don’t know what’s got into ‘im today. I only just got that bleedin’ lift fixed, an’ all.”

“The Archbishop of Canterbury?” hazarded Becker.

Norman looked puzzled. “’ad an ‘ard day, laddie? What on earth would the Spawn of Satan be doin’ ‘ere at this time o’ night? He’ll be tucked up in ‘is palace, you mark my words.”

Becker glanced rather helplessly at the door. He’d only been here a week and already the place had reduced him to hoping for moral support from inanimate objects.

“I’ll sort ‘im,” said Norman. “You get back to your card-game, and watch that laddie, ‘ee’s a bugger for cheating when you ain’t lookin’.”

Becker nodded and, hanging grimly onto what remained of his dignity, headed back to the rec room. He hesitated outside the door for a moment, still wondering whether he should go downstairs and run a check on the security logs.

He heard a voice inside the room say, “Be fair, boss, we could have been landed with worse.”

It sounded like Blade was talking to Lyle on the phone. He wondered if the lieutenant was checking up on him.

He heard Blade chuckle. “Yeah, nice trick with the wotsit and the dog. It saved the captain from blowing their heads off. The owner of the dog was shitting himself by the time I’d finished with him. Did you see his face?”

How the hell could Lyle have seen the man’s face? That encounter had taken place in the woods and Lyle had been with the main group the whole time.

Becker hesitated, knowing that listening at doors was a really bad idea, but feeling strangely disinclined to go back into the room while the conversation was still going on.

Blade’s voice was low and amused. “Aye, we heard you all right. According to Ditz, the captain must have thought it was Lyle and he didn’t ask any questions afterwards so we didn’t tell any lies.”

So it wasn’t Lyle and it wasn’t Ditzy and, as the medic was the only other officer likely to be called ‘boss’ by any of the men, Becker was now well and truly puzzled. He pushed the door open with his hand, fully expecting to see Blade talking into his mobile. What he wasn’t expecting was to find him still sitting on one of the sofas, a coffee mug cradled in both hands.

Becker gave an involuntary shiver as his eyes conducted a rapid scan of the room. Whoever it was must be in the kitchen.

“Fancy a biscuit?” he asked, striding purposefully across the room.

Blade nodded. “Kettle’s just boiled.”

The kitchen proved to be empty.

Becker shivered again. This was getting bloody silly. He glanced over his shoulder back into the main room and thought he caught sight of movement in one corner, a dark shadow slipping along one wall, maybe. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but closed it again with the question unasked.

It was too soon to make a complete prat of himself in front of one of his men.

But he did intend to check the security logs at the first opportunity.

* * * * *

The security logs proved unhelpful and try as he might, Becker could find no record at all of any unauthorised presence in the ARC, but that didn’t stop him instigating a thorough review of security. The only thing that came out of his investigations was a series of inexplicable glitches in the surveillance cameras situated throughout the building.

Some cameras appeared to fail regularly at random times, while others occasionally showed what looked like a greyish fog obscuring the film. He had several cameras replaced and the rest checked over by an equally-bemused Connor.

A week later, Becker was still none the wiser but was rapidly reaching the conclusion that the ARC was suffering from sick building syndrome. Either that or Norman was right. He wasn’t sure which he found easier to believe.

The building also appeared to contain a surprising number of people with a habit of talking to themselves. At first he thought the soldiers had their radios tuned to a frequency he didn’t know about, which would have explained why he was missing transmissions, but some discreet enquiries quickly put paid to that theory.

Becker wasn’t the only one who was puzzled, either. It soon became clear that Connor was equally baffled by the erratic behaviour of the vast majority of the electrical items in the building, including his own baby, the ADD. As a result, Becker found himself spending more and more time with the team’s resident geek as they both checked – and rechecked – every system in the building.

He discovered, much to his surprise, that Connor wasn’t younger than him after all and that, despite initial impressions, the dark-haired young man was actually a year older than Becker. Also to his surprise, he enjoyed Connor’s company. The team’s dinosaur expert was an intriguing mix of intensity and gauche shyness. He would geek out for hours over his latest struggle with the ADD and the measures he’d take to evict gremlins from his system, and enthuse until the cows came home over the latest unwanted visitor from the past, but if Becker so much as edged the conversation onto a personal level, Connor would become tongue-tied and promptly clam up.

By dint of some careful questioning, and even more careful reading between the lines, Becker eventually uncovered the truth. Connor had in fact been in a relationship with Captain Ryan that went beyond the bounds of simple friendship. The two men had been lovers. It explained the depth of sadness he saw all too often in Connor’s eyes. And it also explained the special protectiveness that Ryan’s team – as he always seemed to think of them – displayed towards Connor.

Becker wondered at what point, if ever, he was going to start thinking of the soldiers as his team, rather than Ryan’s team. To give the men credit, none of them ever gave him cause to doubt their loyalty, and both Lyle and Owen behaved in a wholly exemplary manner, accepting his leadership more readily than Becker had dared to hope possible. But there was still something – a very indefinable something – but something nonetheless, that he couldn’t put his finger on. Occasionally their eyes would slide past him, their focus elsewhere for a moment. At other times they would hesitate for a fraction of a second before reacting, just enough to make Becker wonder if they were going to question his orders, but in fact they never did. Yet for all their apparent acceptance of him, they still didn’t feel like his team.

Ryan’s shadow still lay over all of them, but most of all over Connor.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, Becker grew closer to Connor. They had coffee together in the small hours of the morning, provided the kettle didn’t blow up before reaching the boil. They went for the occasional drink after work, sometimes with other team members, but sometimes on their own. Becker wasn’t sure where it was all leading, but what he was sure of was that he enjoyed Connor’s company. There were also times – quite a lot of times, actually – when he wanted to take Connor in his arms and kiss him until the sadness left his eyes.

But the last thing Becker wanted was to take things too fast, and he also suspected that the last thing Connor wanted was another Special Forces captain for a boyfriend. So he played safe, keeping away from anything personal, and simply concentrated on enjoying Connor’s company.

* * * * *

A visit to the Black Swan, the nearest pub to the ARC, had become something of a habit for the team on a Friday evening, providing no anomaly alert sounded to spoil their down-time.

To a chorus of ‘let the old lady see the light’, Connor was rootling around in his wallet for a £10 note he was convinced he had stowed in there somewhere. Becker grinned and offered him a loan, which was eventually accepted, once a thorough search amidst a sheaf of credit cards slips, cinema tickets and assorted other items had proved fruitless.

Assisted by Abby, Connor brought another round of drinks back to the table, and conversation continued to flow, light and easy. Becker leaned back in his chair, listening to Connor and Kermit enthuse over the latest big budget special effects-heavy disaster movie to hit the big screens. It sounded like a trip to the cinema might be on the cards, if Becker played his hand carefully.

A scrap of paper on the floor underneath the table attracted Becker’s attention. It looked like something had failed to find its way back into Connor’s wallet. He reached down and picked it up. Two faces stared out at him from a small photograph. Connor, smiling broadly, with his arm around the waist of a tall, blond man who was looking at him, his serious expression softened by a fond smile. Connor was wearing his usual collection of charity shop clothing. The other man was wearing jeans and a dark blue teeshirt.

Becker felt a sudden rush of adrenaline through his system and the photograph dropped from his fingers onto the table. He barely registered the flicker of the pub lights, and Connor’s grateful thanks as he retrieved the picture and tucked it away carefully in his wallet.

He’d seen the man in the photo before, staring over his shoulder in the mirror in the men’s toilets in the ARC.

Becker’s pulse raced uncomfortably, and some pieces started to drop into place in his mind. He finished his drink, made an excuse, and headed back to the ARC, his thoughts racing as fast as his pulse.

At nearly 10pm, the ARC was almost deserted. A bored duty technician at the ADD nodded to him as he walked across the atrium and up the ramp to the first floor. The soldiers on duty were probably holed up in the recreation room - either that or they’d already gone to bed - and Lester’s office was in darkness.

Becker made his way to the men’s toilets. They were empty. Doing his best to ignore an uncomfortable fluttering feeling in his stomach, as though a trapped bird was trying to escape, Becker emptied his bladder then went over to the row of small sinks to wash his hands.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said aloud, “Captain Ryan. Captain Tom Ryan.”

Every instinct screamed at Becker to open his eyes and turn around. An icy draught blew through the room, even though Becker knew there was no open window.

He took another breath and let it out slowly, then opened his eyes and stared into the mirror.

Behind him the blond man from the picture stared back at him, the same serious expression on his good-looking face.

Becker felt an icy prickle of fear run down his spine as the temperature in the room plummeted. He turned around, slowly and carefully, more than half-expecting the black-clad figure to disappear, the way he had done the first time Becker had seen him.

Blue eyes stared steadily back at him, and the man appeared solid enough to touch. Becker had never met a dead man before and for a moment he wondered what to say, then he decided to keep it simple.

“Hello, Captain,” he said quietly. “I think it’s time you and I talked, isn’t it?”

A slight smile played around Ryan’s lips, and a voice that Becker felt rather than heard, said equally quietly, “Yes, it is.”


End file.
